


Blurred Lines

by AssortedGeekery



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7644793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssortedGeekery/pseuds/AssortedGeekery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rude tries so hard to keep his business and personal life separate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Licoriceallsorts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Licoriceallsorts/gifts).



Rude spent a great deal of his childhood learning how to do ‘girl’ things. This had quite a bit to do with the fact that his mother wore the pants in the house- metaphorically speaking, when she was on the job- and his father baked. It also had to do with the simple fact that his eldest sibling was a girl, and therefore in charge when there were no adults in the vicinity. Paloma was five years older than him and was the default babysitter for most of Rude’s childhood, provided one of his many cousins wasn’t on hand when both Mama and Papi were busy.

 Rude’s mother, Theodora Sonrisa Ruiz, was a policewoman. A curvy 5’2”, she was the terror of the local force and a person of note at regional events. She had met her husband, Bonifacio Manuel Tapia, in the middle of a bar fight. He was attempting to corral a number of his friends, who were involved in the fight. She had been enjoying a post-shift drink when the fight broke out. In the chaos that followed, the two met carrying people they knew out the door to throw in the irrigation ditch on the other side of a low wall. They argued, accused, went back to dealing with the brawl, and ended the evening with Bonifacio sitting in the dust beside the little wall and Theodora on the wall itself, sharing a bowl of salsa and chips. They were married a little over a year later.

 Bonifacio was a bear of a man at 6’ 3”, kept that way by the heavy lifting and lots of work required by his chosen profession: he was a baker. He spent his days getting up before dawn to haul flour and grain sacks, kneading mountains of dough and carrying wood for several monstrous wood-burning bake ovens. This was, however, by family definition, man’s work and therefore less important than Theodora’s business. 

As a rule, in Rude’s family, if Theodora did it, it was woman’s work and therefore off limits to men. She argued quite firmly that men should stick to domestic tasks like cooking, farming, animal husbandry and such things, while complex work like business, law and managing the home were for women to do.

 It was really no surprise that she objected loudly when Rude announced that he had been scouted for the Turks. Where Theodora was concerned, it was a woman’s work he was getting himself into and he had no right whatsoever.

Privately, Rude was quite thankful that all his mother’s work kept her quite firmly on the good-sized island off of Costa del Sol he’d grown up on, or she would probably have come to Midgar to haul him home.

That said, he quickly learned that all the ‘manly’ work he’d been taught to do as a boy was exactly the opposite in Midgar. Keeping his apartment clean? Girly. Doing his own laundry (and doing it correctly, with colors and whites sorted and bleach used appropriately and his shirts and trousers ironed)? Girly. Cooking his own food with more than a microwave? Insanely girly and probably gay.

Rude learned very quickly that the people who appreciated or valued his supposed  domestic ability were the ones he ought to be spending his precious free time with. They were also the sorts of skills that had high value amongst the primarily young, primarily male trainees he spent his time with. Particularly during boot camp, a requirement for even Turk recruits, where most of his companions didn’t know to separate their whites from the rest of their clothes, let alone how to get mud stains out of their pants.

Then came the sleepy, heavy pre-storm summer afternoon when Veld approached his desk- an uneven table set up in a corner until he stopped being a Rookie- and asked if he could handle a roommate.

“A….roommate, sir?” Rude ventured, not entirely sure he was hearing correctly. None of the Turks, regardless of rank, had roommates that he had ever heard of.

“A roommate. I have a pair of Rookies and I need to house one.”

 “They can’t use the company housing?”

 “He isn’t in a position to live alone just yet,” Veld corrected. “And he’s too young t’ be stuck in his own quarters and left to his own devices. No tellin’ what he’d get up to.”

 “And the...other one?”

 “Isn’t leaving my quarters until he’s fit to.” Veld gave Rude a look. “You’re fully capable of minding this kid on top of your own life- sounds like you’ve had plenty of practice. He needs somewhere stable to stay until he’s ready to live on his own.”

 “You want me to be his big brother,” Rude said flatly. “I already have three little brothers, sir, I don’t need another one.” Beyond not appealing to him on the sheer nuisance alone, Rude wasn’t at all comfortable with the idea of treating a stranger as family before he had earned that right.

 “I want you to be someone he can look up to and learn from. Someone who can at least make sure there’s good food on hand and that he can get to clean clothes until he learns how to clean ‘em proper on his own. Brotherhood ain’t required. Is that going to be a problem?”

 “If he’s _that_ young, why is he here?”

 “He’s not as young as all that, but he’s...ah...wild,” Veld said carefully. “Comes from down in the Slums. He’s had a hard life so far.”

 Rude sighed and leaned back in his chair- unlike the table, his chair was office standard, large and comfortable and supportive- to stretch and crack his knuckles. 

“I guess we could try?” he offered. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“If it’s that bad we might be able to pull something else, but it won’t be easy. Try an’ tolerate him.” Veld chuckled softly. “Maybe you can even teach him a few things about maturity.”

 _That_ did _not_ bode well.

* * *

 

Reno was a tall, skinny, squirrely sort of person. Veld was right, though, he was older than Rude had expected, maybe sixteen. He was the kind of skinny that made Rude nervous: bony, a little awkward, skin stretched a little too tight from too little food for too long a time. He didn’t smell, at least, and his hair- a truly astonishing bright red- was clean, albeit worn in a weird cut.

 He explored every bit of Rude’s quarters he could get into. He very nearly made it into Rude’s bedroom before Rude caught him with a set of lockpicks that were _not_ standard issue.

 “ _No_ ,” he said firmly, taking the picks from Reno and pocketing them. “You have no reason to be in my bedroom.”

 “What’s in there?” Reno demanded. 

“None of your business.” 

“Must be something awful if you don’t want me to see. Or somethin’ great. You got girly mags in there? Or ones with pretty boys? Share!” 

Rude had to process that a moment. “ _No_ , I don’t have those kinds of things. I just don’t want you in there.” 

“How come?” Reno got a hand into Rude’s pocket, after his lockpicks, and squawked when Rude closed a big hand around his wrist to stop him. “Hey!” 

“You get those back when I’m sure you’re not going to try and break into my things again,” Rude warned. “My bedroom is _my_ space. Your bedroom is now _your_ space, even if it was mine to start with. That means that I don’t get into your space without permission, and you don’t get into mine. That’s fair. That’s how it’s _done_.”

“How _what’s_ done?” Reno demanded. “How come you’re bald? You’re too young to be bald. Big guy like you oughtta have tats and piercings. How come you don’t have any?” 

“Who says I don’t?” Rude hedged.

 “Show me!”

“No.” 

Reno proceeded to climb Rude, plucking delicately at the collar of his shirt to get a look down the back of it with one leg hooked around Rude’s waist. It was weird, but it gave Rude the chance to put some distance and a wall between Reno and his bedroom door. 

“Lemme seeeeeee.”

 “No,” he said again, and carefully peeled Reno off himself to dump the redhead onto the couch. “You need to learn some boundaries. Not everyone’s going to just stand there if you climb on them.”

Reno cocked his head to the side. “But you did.”

“I did, yes.”

“Why?”

Rude shrugged. “I’m the fourth and largest out of nine kids. I have more cousins that I can count on fingers and toes and I’m bigger than a lot of them, too. I’ve been babysitting since I was eight. So many younger people climb on me that I hardly notice most of the time. But other people here _will_ notice, so you need to cut that out.” 

“If I don’t climb on people, will you let me see your tattoo?”

“I don’t _have_ a tattoo yet,” Rude sighed. “I want one. Well, several.”

Reno tucked his legs under himself and rocked, a smile spreading across his face. “How come you haven't, then?”

“Can’t find a decent artist, I guess. I can’t draw to save my life and none of the tattoo artists I’ve found whose work I like do custom designs so far.”

Reno snorted. “Tell you what. If I hook you up with a better tattoo parlor, you let me design your ink. You’ve got ideas, right? You know what you want, just not how to make it look the way you want?” 

Rude nodded slowly. “You know a decent place? Clean? Safe?”

The response he got was very smug. “Slum parlors are cleaner than Plate ones, yo. If you fuck up a tat down there, your customer’ll come back and if you’re lucky, he’ll just beat you bloody for it. Up here….eh, a quick payoff and it’s settled quietly.” He touched the brilliant red crescents on his cheek bones. “I had these done over a scar, even, and they’re perfect.”

“Over a scar?” 

“Someone tried to take out my eye with a broken bottle.”

What, exactly, did you say to a casual remark like that? Rude swallowed, trying to formulate a response- _any_ response- and ended up with something his father might have said after one of his younger brothers (or his littlest sister) did something remarkably dumb. 

“Well that was stupid of them.”

Reno’s grin told him that was a good answer.

A month or so later, Rude had the beginnings of his dream tattoo inked in clear lines on his back.

* * *

 

Some six months later, Reno was finally starting proper training. He hadn’t yet been sent to bootcamp and it looked like he might not ever be. (Which was honestly fine by Rude, who wasn’t sure Reno would _survive_ boot camp.)

Several rounds of vaccinations were on the list of things Reno had to get in conjunction with his physical, and since Rude’s annual flu shot was due, he amiably wandered down to Medical with the redhead. Somehow, he ended up going second, sitting in a typically uncomfortable chair outside the exam room with a new cookbook, reading up on slow cooker recipes while he waited. Reno had had at least one physical before, when he was admitted, so this one ought to be quick. 

Which he thought right up until the moment someone in the exam room _shrieked_.

Almost immediately afterwards, the door slammed open and  Reno shot into the hallway, wide-eyed, pupils blown, still wearing the flimsy paper exam gown and nothing else. He was streaking down the hallway before Rude could do more than get out of the chair, hopping onto a low bookshelf at the end, prying a vent cover off the wall and scrabbling inside before Rude could cover half the distance.

Rude considered the situation a moment, then decided that trying to drag what was likely a hollering, kicking, biting, scratching roommate out of the vent was a job for other people and went into the exam room. 

There didn’t appear to be anyone hurt, and very little actual damage, though a small cart of supplies had been overturned and there appeared to be a needle and syringe embedded in the ceiling tiles. The doctor and nurse, a no-nonsense woman they’d recently brought in named Rayleigh and a small, nervously shaking young man who was probably going to quit by the end of the day, were both in the far corner. When Rayleigh pushed away from the wall, the nurse fled. 

“Should I ask?” Rude ventured.

“Apparently no one informed him that the vaccinations are administered via injection,” Rayleigh said dryly, dusting herself off. “And he reacted rather strongly when he got the news.”

“Rather strongly,” he repeated, taking in the mess of supplies on the floor. He thought about trying to pick them up, but knew that a good portion of them were probably going to be trashed because of contamination from contact with the floor.

“Yes, I suppose it was to be expected but I assumed he was going to be _warned_.” She paused in her dusting and looked at Rude calculatingly. “You haven’t been told?”

Rude shook his head, noting that he needed to call Veld. “Would it be possible to get my flu shot before I go deal with this? I don’t have time for another appointment this week.”

 She blinked at him, then nodded. “Of course. Roll up your sleeve.”

 Five minutes later, Rude was on his way back down the hall with a bandaid, a sucker from the timid nurse’s replacement and his phone in his hand, waiting for Veld to pick up.

 “Faraman.”

 “I lost Reno.”

 “....where did you lose him?”

 “In the vents on the general floor of Medical, sir.”

 Rude distinctly heard Veld choke on what was probably coffee. He waited silently while Veld coughed.

 “In the _vents_.”

 “Yes sir. Apparently he has a distinct aversion to injections.”

 Then, for the first time since they’d met, Rude heard Veld swear. It was a very impressive swear, in several languages strung together into a single, terrible invocation of filth and pestilence and venereal disease. It did not, however, seem to be directed at anyone in particular.

 “He didn’t _say_ , that….how fast was he moving?”

 “Hard to say after his bare butt disappeared into the ductwork, sir.”

 “It’s best if I get his permission to explain this, Rude.”

 “I figured. I’m going to go spend company money to get him out of the vents.”

 “Do what you have to do.”

It took Rude the better part of an hour to determine where, exactly, Reno had gone. He was deep in Clerical, curled in a particularly broad section of vent, and he refused to come out when Rude removed a vent cover and poked his head up into the dim, slightly breezy space. Rude had wisely removed his head and hopped off the desk he was standing on.

Over the course of the next hour, he poked a blanket, several of Reno’s comics, a large fancy coffee thing full of chocolate and vanilla and cream from the cafe down the street and a standard issue sack lunch into the vent.

Reno slithered out near evening, covered in dust and shivering despite the blanket he was wrapped in. He looked very small, especially considering his height.

Rude grabbed him, tossed him up into a fireman’s carry and headed for home. It was too much like carrying some of his brothers home after an argument or a long day at work, too close to home for him to be comfortable with it, but this was Reno and Reno _needed_ that sort of thing.

It was late that evening when Reno, curled in a blanket he’d found somewhere- Rude didn’t own anything so garishly colored- and holding a mug of Mama’s secret chocolate recipe (the one with the vanilla and the cinnamon and thick cream), explained how he’d come to Shinra. How Veld had peeled him off the ground in an alley while he was starting withdrawal from glow. How there had been other drugs before that. How he’d spent several weeks in Medical before even getting to Veld’s quarters. How he wore contacts to shield the luminance in his irises that would never fade. How needles terrified him now, as he was afraid even the bite of one for a vaccine would send him tumbling back to the slums and the drugs he had been so dependent on.

Rude listened silently until Reno went quiet. Then he told Reno about _why_ he needed those vaccines. Told him about the people who died in his hometown from some of the things those vaccines prevented. Told him about the time he’d been bedridden with malaria as a boy, before the vaccine was released. And then, before Reno could panic again, he started describing all the other ways he knew vaccines could be administered, if necessary.

After Reno fell asleep, belly full of rich chocolate and hot cream, Rude called Veld and began arranging for alternative vaccine arrangements. Goodness knew he had held his siblings down or up or back while they had gotten theirs. Zoraida had started helping him in the last few years, as she had rapidly grown as soon as she hit twelve and was on track to be a massive goddess of a woman, fully capable of restraining her twin brother and Tulio, the youngest and wiggliest of their household.

* * *

 

In the years that came after, Rude found himself working alongside Reno nearly constantly, whether he liked it or not. He was counted on to restrain the often wild redhead, to be the ground to his live wire. Nevermind that, given the chance, Rude was capable of some of the craziest stunts possible with explosives.

With Reno’s help, his tattoo had grown. And he was pierced, though he had kept to his ears for the time being.

Then Cissnei came. She had been trained in Junon, a pretty little redheaded orphan Veld had taken a shine to. Rude suspected she reminded him of his daughter.

She was a little hellion. Not much over five feet, she wielded first a fuma shuriken, then a dai once she had the hang of the massive weapon. She _named_ the dai, calling it Rekka and wreaking a kind of havoc he’d previously only seen Reno accomplish with a single weapon and no incendiary devices. The upper body strength required was phenomenal, and a little scary in a girl her size. Rude was used to powerful little women, but his mother _looked_ strong, short and solid with thick thighs and broad shoulders. Cissnei could rock a cocktail dress.

She was his mother’s size, give or take, where height was concerned. And _damn_ , but she was hard to keep track of. Not like Reno, who was easiest to find when you remembered to look _up._..Cissnei just vanished, in true Turk style. Poof, gone, and then he had to go _find_ the madwoman because of _course_ it was his job.

He was also her escort when she had shopping to do. 

“You don’t need me for this,” he pointed out, stirring sweetened condensed milk into his coffee.

“Yes, I do,” Cissnei said firmly.

“No. Cissnei, you can kill a man at least a dozen ways with your unarmed body and half a minute’s casual thought. I don’t need to go shopping with you.”

“ _Ruuuuuuude_ , I need you to come with me!”

“I’m also not stupid enough to give an opinion on anything you - or any woman for that matter- walks out of a dressing room to show off. So I’m useless to you in that respect as well.” He dipped a biscochito, thick and sandy and delicately perfumed with anise, into his coffee. A care package had arrived the day before, packed with goodies from his father’s bakery that could survive the trip, five pounds of excellent coffee and an admonishment from his mother to find a good woman to keep him in line and come home like a proper man ought to.

“I don’t need _you_ to critique my clothes,” she sniffed. “I need you so the trip doesn’t turn into an all-day event.”

“Since when is clothes shopping _not_ an all day event? You and Reno can spend hours in a single store.”

The longest _Rude_ ever spent in a clothing store of any kind was when he occasionally had to replace his good suit. Shinra kept him in the standard Turk uniform suit, of course, but he liked to have a good one on hand for special events, formals and the odd mission that needed nice clothes without the uniform. He was more than willing to hold still for a properly fitted bespoke suit.

“Since I have lots of places to go and don’t wanna deal with all the guys the whole time. Come be scary for me, please?”

Ah. That was something he’d had to do sometimes, when his sisters, cousins and several very young aunts went on shopping trips on the mainland. He and Gilberto, his next largest brother, would tag along to exchange being big and scary for food, keeping men who didn’t know better from pestering the hoard of Tapia women.

“What do I get out of it?” he hedged, licking crumbs from his fingers. A stray anise seed crunched between his teeth.

“...you want me to _pay_ you?”

“Feed me,” Rude said firmly. “Lunch and a visit to the bakery on the corner by the train station after. I’ll carry your bags back too.”

Sure enough, it was just like back home, just…there was only _one_ tiny scrappy woman to keep track of and no cajeta to drizzle over locally made ice cream afterwards.

* * *

 

Just like home, Rude spent a lot of time rounding up the younger members of the household...younger in mind or in body, because he thought Reno might be his age. Reno didn’t know. Cissnei was a few years younger. Tseng was older, but prone to bouts of silent contemplation that left Rude at a loss for words because _now_ was not the _best_ time for such things.

Granted, now was _never_ a good time. If you had to ask, the answer was always no.

And if _Rufus_ was asking, the no was always followed with a highly suspicious ‘why?’

Rude had come under Rufus’ umbrella of support staff somewhat by accident. Normally his size made him a nono for Rufus’ protection detail, because no one needed _that_ juxtaposition of Rude, huge and hulking and bald and pierced with the ever-present sunglasses paired with little Rufus Shinra, slim and blond and almost too pretty for his own good, and the black versus white suits made the contrast all the more comical.

But there was an evening when Reno, sleeping in Rude’s spare room while water damage from a flood one floor up was torn out of his own quarters, spent hours huddled on the bathroom floor, heaving and whining and sweating, and _someone_ had to take his guard shift. Rude traded his day off for Reno’s, and his shift guarding Lazard for Reno’s with Rufus.  

Rufus’ mornings started horribly early. Rude didn’t know if this was a personal choice or a habit trained into the company heir, but he hauled himself out of bed before sunrise, ate and dressed, and stifled three yawns on the elevator ride up to Rufus’ suite.

The Vice President’s Suite was a spacious area that covered a good quarter of a floor in the Tower only a few floors from the top. The more private areas, such as Rufus’ bedroom, home office and living/eating spaces, where at the back. Rude had been there a time or two, with Veld or with Tseng, but never for long. 

In the back, Rufus Shinra was making pained faces at a complicated looking little espresso machine on his kitchen counter. He still had his pajamas on and his hair was a ruffled, pillow-flattened disaster. He blinked sleepily at Rude.

“Morning. Coffee?”

Rude stared at him. _Coffee_ ? The Vice President wanted to make him _coffee_?

“Um…”

“Provided I can talk this thing into pulling a shot, anyhow. We’re both having cranky mornings.”

A shrill beeping went off behind them. Rude jumped, immediately shielding Rufus with his body. Rufus laughed and wriggled free.

“Get those out of the oven, would you?”

Those turned out to be cinnamon rolls, a whole pan of them, fat and golden brown and beautifully scented with spice. Rude goggled at them.

“Um….”

“Just chuck them on the counter, it’s heatproof.”

Rufus moved to a measuring cup full of something thick and white that Rude had assumed was milk or cream for coffee. As soon as Rude got out of the way, he poured it over the cinnamon rolls instead, sending up a cloud of vanilla scent. He made a pleased sound.

“Perfect. I got this recipe from Angeal, you know. Very reliable, his recipes. Idiot proof, I think. Was that a yes or a no on the coffee?”

“I really shouldn’t, sir.”

“Why not? It’s bumfuck in the morning. A cup of coffee ought to do you some good.”

Rude nodded faintly.

“Excellent. We’ll let those sit a minute and I’ll manage the coffee...if the _confounded_ thing would _work_ …" 

It did work. Rufus’ coffee was actually a latte, which Rude declined flavoring for and drank straight, nervously sipping from the chunky ceramic mug Rufus pulled out from behind a rank of uniformly delicate china cups as he stood more or less at attention.

“ _Sit_ ,” Rufus insisted, and he sat, tense, on the edge of his chair. “Eat.”

Rufus plunked a plate down in front of him. On it was a gooey, steaming cinnamon roll and a small fork.

“... _sir_ ,” Rude managed.

Everything he had ever learned about manners from his parents- and his father in particular, Papi would throw a fit if he turned down home baking- said he should accept and enjoy. His training as a Turk and his experiences guarding other executives said that a Turk was supposed to be seen and not heard, if he was seen at all, for most of the day. What was he supposed to _do_?

“ _Ah_...is it safe to assume that Reno didn’t share any information with you other than when you should be here?” Rufus asked, sliding into a seat across from him.

“He didn’t say much at all,” Rude admitted. “He was too sick to." 

“Poor thing,” Rufus sighed. “Well, I can’t blame him for that. When I’m not in the public eye, Rude, I prefer my bodyguards to be a little more social. I like to talk to them. Eat with them. Know them as people. I’ve plenty of reasons for that, mind, but Veld helped raise me and...I think of the Turks as an extension of my family.”

Rude quietly choked on his coffee.

_ABORT MISSION_

Family? Rufus considered the Turks to be his _family_?

“Granted, I understand you’ve got quite a large family already, Turks aside,” Rufus murmured, cutting his own cinnamon roll into chunks connected by drooping strings of icing. “Reno’s told me you’re one of...eight children?" 

“Nine,” Rude said automatically. “Eight births. Two of the youngest are twins.” 

“Ah, I see. Anyway…” 

“Can we just start with the coffee and roll, sir?” Rude asked softly. “Since it’s my first day.”

And naturally, the first day was followed by a second, and a third, and then Rude was added to Rufus’ regular rotation. Being specially requested by the Vice President was a _thing_ apparently.

It took him a long time to really get used to Rufus’ casual, comfortable way of behaving around Turks, but it was sort of...nice.

* * *

 

Things happened fast and hard right around the time Rude turned 27. More specifically, everything went to hell in a lovely pink handbasket with lace and ribbons wound round the handles.

And there was death. So much death. So many good people, and innocents too.

Rude called home every chance he got. Being on an island instead of the mainland gave his family some extra protection from the crazy breaking out worldwide.

He spent a lot of time getting over injuries. He saw Tseng survive an injury that should have killed him. He knew Aerith had died of virtually the same injury and wondered at how fickle life was.

Back home, two of his siblings had children while he raced across the Planet, not sure who he worked for or what his purpose was anymore.

He and Reno helped to pull Rufus from the Tower, burning and screaming and crying, hysterical when Dark Nation leapt frantically beneath the helo. He dropped back out and grabbed the stupid animal around the middle, hauling her into the chopper through sheer force of determination.

She died two weeks later. Rufus nearly died with her, from his injuries and the loss of his beloved companion of nearly twenty years. 

When the fires were put out and the skies cleared, the world was a wreck.

Veld was gone.

Cissnei was gone.

Sephiroth was gone, and SOLDIER with him, all dead or vanished.

Shinra was gone.

The Turks were nearly gone, just Rude, Tseng, Reno and a titchy little blonde. Elena had come to them from Junon like Cissnei had done. Her older sister had served...she was gone. Elena was quiet like Cissnei, but brash once she got wound up. Angry inside that tiny little body, and hurting. She was a demolitions expert, a natural counterpart to Rude’s explosives. And the year Rude turned 29, she turned 21. Younger even than his baby brother Tulio and nearly as fragile, in his eyes.

Elena did not take kindly to his careful treatment of her.

They were in Healin then, with Rufus still healing from his injuries and getting sick besides. All of them still mourning.

The morning started with Elena’s pancakes on Rude’s head, dripping syrup into his eyebrows and off his earlobes.

 “Suck on that!” she snarled, and stormed out of the room.

Reno blinked at Rude, then picked his way over and took the topmost pancake, which hadn’t touched any body parts, off Rude’s head. He rolled it up and munched while he surveyed the mess. 

“I think you need a shower. What was that all about?” 

“I don’t even _know_ anymore,” Rude sighed.

“If you would stop referencing your sisters when you correct her, you might not be having so much trouble with her,” Tseng said mildly. He was well out of splash-radius and calmly eating his own pancakes. His were covered in fruit, but at least he was _eating_ them. Once upon a time Rude couldn’t get Tseng to eat anything sweet for breakfast.

“...I do that?”

 “You do,” Reno chuckled. “Like...all the time, yo. Have you even told her about them without using them as examples? What about Zora? She’d love Zora!”

“Don’t tell her about Zoraida,” Tseng sighed. “She doesn’t need that kind of encouragement.”

“I...I didn’t realize…” 

“She’s not Cissnei,” Tseng continued. “Reno, don’t _eat that_ , get him a washcloth. Elena’s history with the Turks is colored by comparison to her late sister. Something she does _not_ appreciate. It’s the only reference for siblings I imagine she has, and it certainly does not seem to be a positive one.”

Reno peeled the rest of the pancakes off Rude’s head and slapped a washcloth down in their place. Cold water ran into Rude’s ear.

 “I’ll talk to her,” Rude promised.

And he did, after he’d showered. She had the day off and was three buildings away, sitting on the roof of one of the empty residence buildings. The notebook in her lap was open to a detailed, hand drawn map of the view before her, the mountains and narrow valleys that kept the facility protected and hidden. 

“Go away,” she snapped, hearing Rude’s approach. He had made she she would hear him coming.

“Can we talk?”

 “I don’t want to.”

“Elena, please.” 

“About _what_?” she demanded.

“My sisters. My family. Things I should have said differently?”

She turned around to face him. Sitting as she was, she had to tip her head far back to meet his eyes. Rude dealt with this by kneeling, then sitting beside her, handing her a small canvas-bound album.

“No one here has ever met my family,” he murmured as she flipped it open. “They don’t come this way often. Most of the time they don’t even leave the island.”

Elena paged through a carefully curated selection of photographs Rude had collected on visits back home. His parents outside the house, Mama sitting on Papi’s shoulder and grinning. Diego, Gilberto and him escorting Paloma to a spring dance. Adelina, Paloma and Zoraida dressed up for the fiestas. Bonifacio in the bakery with Papi. Snapshots of the life he’d left behind, safe on an island.

“There’s so many of them,” she whispered.

 “Mmmhm. Mama is one of six children. Papi has _twelve_ siblings. I have more cousins than I can count, and eight siblings of my own.” He reached over her shoulder to flip to the back of the book, where he had individual photos of his family. “My mother is a cop. Most of her sisters have other jobs that you’d call masculine on the mainland and in other places. My father has always been the domestic one while she goes out and kicks ass...and she raised us that way. My sisters are terrifying. They think I’m an idiot for being a Turk, you know...they say it’s woman’s work and I should just find a nice girl who can hand me my balls on a platter and settle down to make babies with her.”

Elena stared at him. “ _Women’s work_?”

 “Mmhm. Costa del Sol is a primarily matriarchal society.” He turned a few more pages. The photo he stopped at was at a young woman in her early twenties. She wore combat boots, an eye-searingly bright wrap skirt and a bandeau. Her head was shaved and her ears had rings from top to bottom on one side of her head and studs on the other.  “This is Zoraida. She’s my youngest sister...two years older than you. When she turned eighteen she shaved all her hair off and had the family crest tattooed on the back of her head….I thought Mama was going to kill her. She started training to be a monster hunter that same year.” He laughed softly. “She’s out of her mind. She brings home more monsters than any sane woman and goes on hunts alone...in the last couple of years she’s almost singlehandedly kept the island clear of monsters...it’s a safe zone.”

Elena nodded silently, staring at the picture.

 “Ever since she was small, she’s been following me. Papi says she practically worships me. But that scares me...she’s my baby sister and my favorite sibling and the things I get into? The work I do? It’s dangerous. I don’t want her to get hurt and...when everything started happening, she went home to be with the family and to help out where she could...four _years_ of training and monster hunting and she was fine, but six months at home and she ended up in hospital...some fire-breathing flying thing left her with scars down her left side and limited vision in one eye. Now she’s sick, too...like Rufus is.”

Mama had told him that much, over the phone. Sores on her legs wept a strange, dark grey fluid with no smell. She was feverish and sometimes had fits of pain that left her exhausted, when the screaming stopped.

His baby sister. His favorite. He couldn’t do anything.

“So I’m sorry if me telling you about what she and my other sisters would or wouldn’t do is upsetting,” he whispered. “I’m not comparing you to them because I think you should be like them. I’m doing it because you _are_ like them and I worry about you the same way I worry about them...not because I don’t think you can _handle_ something, but because I don’t want to see you get hurt. Your competence means you get sent on difficult missions and put in dangerous positions. It’s because you’re _good_ at what you do that I worry.”

 Elena nodded faintly, touching the photo.

 “She’s beautiful.”

 “You are too, y’know. I’m sure living with a bunch of men doesn’t help much, but you are.” 

Elena offered a small smile.

 “So you think of me like family?”

 

Rude had spent years trying to keep his family and his employment separate. He’d failed to keep Reno from worming in and being like a brother to him. Veld had been his second father, Tseng like an older brother. Cissnei like Adelina, the middle child, sweet and sassy. Somehow, over time, the Turks had become as much family as his biological family.

 

“I guess I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested, the following is Rude's immediate family tree. Ages are as of 0007, the year Advent Children occurs.
> 
> The family of Agapito Rudolfo Tapia (Rude)  
> Paloma (35)  
> Diego (34)  
> Gilberto (32)  
> Agapito (30)  
> Bonifacio Junior (28)  
> Adelina (27)  
> Zoraida (24)  
> Rafael (24)  
> Tulio (22)  
> Bonifacio Sr "Papi" (62)  
> Theodora "Dora" (59)
> 
> There are 3 sisters-in-law, 1 brother-in-law, 4 nieces and 2 nephews as of 0007. Zoraida will recover from Geostigma, though she will not return to monster hunting due to her impaired vision. She moves to Edge and takes up her mother's profession instead, as an officer in the local police force.


End file.
